


The First Year After

by Nineveh_uk



Category: Lord Peter Wimsey - Dorothy L. Sayers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-20
Updated: 2007-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 06:08:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1635629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nineveh_uk/pseuds/Nineveh_uk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the year after Harriet Vane is acquitted of murder, she, Peter, and Charles Parker must learn to live with one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Year After

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Beth H

 

 

_Extract from the Diary of Honoria Lucasta, Dowager Duchess of Denver_

_12 January 1930 - Peter drove down from Town, arriving for dinner and pandemonium. Gerald really being too tiresome about Mary and Charles. Told him if he hadn't objected to Captain Cathcart, as unfaithful cardsharp, he would be hard pressed to find argue unsuitability of perfectly respectable policeman. Gerald said respectability not the point, no doubt family very decent in their way, and all of that dreadful Victorian nonsense. Refrained from pointing out what G. owes Charles, as Mary already said enough on subject for all of us. Peter's arrival very timely, Gerald just about to say something silly about money - ultimatums always dangerous as so hard to back down from and G. terribly stubborn, just like his father, though I must say that at least on business he is willing to be argued round - so new theme of impossibility of Peter's marrying Harriet Vane quite refreshing. Came to bed quite out of patience with the lot of them._

_13 January - Peter absolutely serious about Miss Vane. Looking very tired, poor boy, and quite giddy with relief that the dreadful business is over, explaining outburst yesterday, although no doubt he will have to be a witness at the trial of the oily solicitor, no good for him. Dying to ask if he knew what HV thought about him, but felt best not. One can't help worrying about it, because really he can't know her very well at all, and he took it so hard when things went wrong last time, although of course that was the war, too, and Bunter doesn't seem unduly worried at present, which is something. Caught him mooning over photograph, Peter, I mean, not Bunter, which he shoved very quickly into handkerchief drawer. Do hope she is sympathetic... Very hard to think of Peter's being hurt all over again._

*

At the beginning of February, when Lord Peter had still neither written nor telephoned, Harriet decided that she could bear it no longer. She must write herself or have the burden of ingratitude forever on her conscience. Only, what if he wasn't doing the decent thing? Memory rose like gall. _I'll live with you, if you like, but I won't marry you._ It was perfectly likely that was why he had neither waited nor called, that he'd gone home and been appalled at her and thought better of the whole affair. But even so, one had to write. One had so much to be ashamed of, one couldn't take a single extra straw, the thought leaving him hanging on, waiting, and she obliged to him and never saying anything.

_Dear Lord Peter,_

That was the easy bit. Harriet resisted the urge to stop and chew her pen.

_I was sorry not to see you after the acquittal. I wanted to thank you for everything you have done for me; I'm quite sure that if it hadn't been for your efforts it should probably have all gone very differently. I really am most grateful for all your help and effort on my behalf. Please do pass my thanks to Miss Climpson and Miss Murchison for their endeavours._

_With sincere gratitude,_

_Harriet Vane_

It was not one of the world's great letters, but at least it was done.

`He'll vish there wos more,' she grinned to herself, `and that's the great art o'letter writin'.'

*

`Miss Harriet Vane? I say, is that you Miss Vane? It's Peter Wimsey. I, er, I received your letter. Awfully sorry to be remiss about replyin', but I've been chasing jewel thieves in Northumberland and they neglected to forward the post. Anyway, I wondered if you'd care to dine with me some time. Perhaps next week, if you're not too busy?'

There was a curious huskiness to the voice, and Harriet wondered with a slight pang of guilt whether he had been ill for his efforts. `Well,' said Harriet, `I don't know.'

`Not thinking of becoming a recluse, I hope?'

`Of course not!'

`Then come and cheer me up. The jewel thief escaped, and February's always beastly - twenty-eight days too many if you ask me.'

`I really haven't been going out much,' she said, feeling the feebleness of the excuse even as the words left her mouth and adding lamely, `I've had so much work to do.'

`That's all right. We'll go somewhere quiet with a decent cook and a good cellar, and you can tell me what you're writing about. Does Tuesday suit you?

`I suppose so. Where - ?'

He gave the address. `Shall I call for you, or will you meet me there at 8 o'clock?'

`I'll come there.'

`Right ho! 'Til Tuesday then. '

*

Harriet climbed into bed with a hot-water bottle against the cold and clammy night, and reflected that really the evening had not been too bad. She had worn her rust-coloured dress, which was pretty but not encouraging, and Lord Peter had proved himself in every way a better dining companion than the impecunious young poets and artists one was more used to accompanying. She had had a moment of self-righteousness on arrival at the small restaurant on the dot of 8 to find him no-where to be seen - until the waiter moved aside and there he was ready to take her coat looking so openly pleased to see her that she was angry with herself for wanting to take him down a peg, and then at him again for being in the right. The food she had ordered with some indifference proved really very good, and the wine, which Lord Peter chose without fuss still managed to be the best she had ever tasted, and she let herself tell him so.

`A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread - and Thou Beside me singing in the Wilderness.' He smiled at her. `I am open to persuasion on the subject of the Wilderness - there's a great deal to be said for modern plumbing after all - but I'm quite convinced about the thou - thee, I mean, and the bread would do for the wedding breakfast. Will you?'

`Lord Peter, I can't possibly -'

`That's a pity. It would have brightened March considerably.'

He had asked permission to see her home, and she could hardly refuse. He had handed her into the taxi, given the direction, and proceeded to chatter cheerfully and inconsequentially until they reached Doughty Street. There was a slightly difficult moment when Harriet realized he was waiting for something and wondered for a horrid second whether he intended to kiss her, until she noticed that he was merely holding his hand out for her key. She hoped she hadn't seen the long nose twitch in the darkness. Damn the man! But she had gone to bed quite cheerful, and that was something to be glad about, all things considering. If he called again, she thought, she might as well go out as do nothing.

*

_28 May 1935 - Harriet to tea tomorrow, with Charles and Mary for introductions. Do hope not too painful. Peter says H., showing novelist's spirit, reconciled to police for their part in things, but know from bitter experience abstract reconciliation quite different from confrontation in the flesh. Found perfect carpet for drawing room._

*

Miss Harriet Vane laid down her pen and rested her chin on her folded hands with a satisfied sigh. The latest chapter was a good one, and the latest book held the promise of meeting the demands of publishers on both sides of the Atlantic, not to mention the newspaper paying for serialisation, and begin the slow process of rehabilitating one's literary, if not social reputation. In the meantime, notoriety generated quite as many sales as quality, and one must put bread on the table and clothes on one's back. Clothes in particular, for everything for the summer reminded one of Phil, and everything one had worn in Holloway seemed, notwithstanding repeated despatches to the laundry, to retain an odour of long damp corridors, boiled food, and buried horrors. If a new silk shirt and light woollen sweater made it easier to write without remembering it was an investment worth making. `I suppose,' she had said to Lord Peter with conscious unkindness, `if I lived with you, you'd buy me clothes?'

`That is the usual arrangement. My wife, of course, will buy her own, though I am always happy to oblige with comment on the latest fashions. I don't suppose I can hope that idea's any more appealin' this week?'

`I'm afraid not.'

`Ah well. I shall try again tomorrow.'

The doorbell rang, and Harriet cursed herself for starting. It was silly. The letters overflowed their box, but nobody had come to the door, and it was foolish to let one or two telephone calls make one behave like this. She capped her fountain pen, retrieved the shoe she had kicked off to twist her leg beneath her as she worked, and squinted through the spy hole onto a face that could scarcely have been less welcome had it come bearing all the signs of plague. She opened the door nonetheless.

`Good afternoon, Chief Inspector.'

Chief Detective Inspector Parker of Scotland Yard, looking thoroughly uncomfortable, made no move forward.

`Good afternoon, Miss Vane.' He had a pleasant voice; she had forgotten that, or perhaps stopped hearing it when what he had said to her had become so very unpleasant. `I wondered if I might have a word?'

Years later, Harriet would be rather proud of herself that she had not burst into tears and rushed back into the flat to telephone in panic to Peter Wimsey. At the time, she was only too furious to move.

`Of course.' She forced her cheeks into a rictus of polite expression. `If you make an appointment with Mr Croft, I am free much of next week. Afternoons are more convenient.'

The effective policeman, thought Harriet, squirreling away the thought for future use, must not blush, but it is hard for even the most experienced of stone-faced officers to hide all feeling when he realises that the course of action he has taken is one he is about to regret.

`Miss Vane, please don't misunderstand me. I am not here in any professional capacity.'

`Of course not,' she had the upper hand now, and the smile came more naturally. `Else you'd already have spoken to Mr Croft. But I don't think it will do my reputation any good to be seen talking to a policeman in the hall, and naturally I have no intention of inviting you in.'

`Perhaps I ought to have written.' He did have a nice voice. She heard, beneath the grammar school surface, a faint breath of the North.

`Perhaps you ought. Alternatively, I should be quite happy, Mr Parker, never to have sight or sound of you again. Excuse me.'

The door slammed behind her and Harriet snatched up her shoe and hurled it at the wall, where it hit with a disappointing slap. She forced her shoulders down, and pinched her lips. There was no point in being angry. Probably he had only wanted to apologise or something equally harmless and human. Poor man; really he was just another part of the consequences. But she had to be angry at him, and at Lord Peter, and the press, and Norman Urquhart who had cheated them all and was dying of the cancer he had given himself and who would never hang to clear her name, and at Phil who had dragged her into it first and last. One could only scarify oneself so much without tearing off the carapace, and that could not be contemplated, because without it one could not work, and one's work, if nothing else, was still important.

*

The restaurant was far too bright, there had been a beastly sneering review in the morning's _Daily Yell_ , and she was arguing with Peter to spite him, for the pleasure in whipping the thorn across his face and seeing it draw blood. Only she couldn't hit hard enough and he kept arguing back as if it were merely an intellectual dispute between friends, and she had burst out,

`Oh for God's sake, Peter! Will you stop wrangling and leave it alone.'

He sat back with a jerk, and looked mischievously at her.

`My dear Harriet, surely you wouldn't rather I took the attitude of letting the little woman win? Even on a day when she appears to have a bad case of the Camelious Hump.'

`Of course not! And I'm not your dear.'

`I'm sorry. But - Harriet?'

`I suppose I can't deny you that.'

*

Mr Croft's office, a little chilly, a little grey, was everything the reassuring solicitor's office should be. Sometimes Harriet wondered why she stuck with Mr Croft, who had at least half-believed that she had been guilty. He was a good solicitor, but her agent might have recommended another half dozen. Only she wouldn't know why they might want to take her on, and at least Mr Croft knew the history so that one didn't have to talk about it. Yet most of all one made these small defiances, painful and unnecessary, because one could not bear to be feel that one had given in.

On this occasion Mr Croft had acted true to form: he thought Miss Vane's agreeing to meet the Chief-Inspector a terrible idea and had, discreetly, said so. At least Miss Vane had accepted that he should be present for the interview, although Mr Parker was evidently less pleased with this state of affairs. He shifted in what Harriet knew from experience was a somewhat uncomfortable chair, and coughed in a manner that was presumably intended to be reassuring.

`I had hoped, Miss Vane, to speak to you in confidence.'

`Chief-Inspector I really cannot allow Miss Vane to -' The impression one had of Mr Croft leaping onto the table, head down, hackles rising, was purely illusory, but made Harriet laugh all the same.

`It's quite all right, Mr Croft. Mr Parker comes with quite trustworthy references these days. And he _did_ arrest Norman Urquhart. Nonetheless,' she acknowledged brightly, `it would be most remiss of me not to take the advice of my solicitor, and lately I do incline to playing on the safe side of the street for some reason. I'm sure Mr Parker won't take it personally when I say his request is obviously quite impossible.'

Mr Parker, who had presumably dealt with harder cases, made a valiant final effort.

`Nevertheless, it is rather a private affair.'

Parker knew then, as her face shut down, losing every trace of the animation, the wry humour that had enlivened it a moment before and given him the merest glimpse of understanding that his friend might not be a complete idiot, that he should have chucked it. But it had been hard enough getting this far, and it was plain that he wasn't going to be given another chance.

`Mr Parker, I have no private affairs. You cannot possibly say anything in front of Mr Croft that he has not heard already under far more sordid circumstances, or might have read in any of a dozen newspapers.'

Parker recovered quickly, but not so quickly that Harriet did not see that the barb had stung.

`Very well.' He squared his shoulders. `Miss Vane, perhaps you know that I am engaged to Lady Mary Wimsey.'

`I have seen one or two headlines, yes.' It had been a slow news week, and the forthcoming marriage of an aristocratic Communist sympathiser with a slightly murky romantic past, and the policeman who had featured so prominently in a number of recent cases (the one with the missing leg even Harriet had to admire) had been a godsend to editors facing a week of spinning out mundane collisions between carts and motorcycles.

`Well, then you'll understand that I was anxious...' he ground to a halt. Harriet looked at him, blandly helpful.

`Yes, Chief-Inspector?'

`I wouldn't want-'

`Miss Vane,' Mr Croft coughed encouragingly.

`No, I'm sorry. I can't make things easier. I look at you, Mr Parker, and I feel your hands round my neck. But I think Mr Croft had better not hear this, if he wouldn't mind.'

`Really I - '

`Yes, Mr Croft, I know. But now I think about it, I would rather hear this alone. Don't worry. If it _is_ simply police harassment, I'll ring.'

Parker looked at her gratefully. `Thank you.'

`Don't, please.'

`All right. Miss Vane, I only wanted to say, that I hope you won't feel my connection with the Wimseys inhibiting. I know Peter Wimsey thinks very highly of you, and I'd hate to feel I stood in the way of any relationship - '

`Mr Parker, believe me I have no relationship with Lord Peter, and I don't want one. I suppose it's natural for you to assume I must wish to rehabilitate myself by any means necessary; you've never understood my principles and why should I expect you to start now? If I did want to marry Lord Peter, I certainly shouldn't let any embarrassment you might feel across the Denver breakfast table stand in my way, but I don't, and if this is all you wanted to talk about, I'd be obliged if you would leave.'

Parker bowed his head and collected his coat and hat. Harriet Vane sat staring at the table. She had not moved to summon Mr Croft.

`Miss Vane?' She looked up. `I really am very sorry.'

`I know. But it doesn't do any good.'

*

_29 May - Tea a success; quiet relief all round. Helen arrived just beforehand, saw something was up and ignored all hints her presence neither desired nor helpful. Effusive greetings to Mary and Charles, introducing H. and saying, `But of course you two have met before.' H. said yes, but that it had been three or four years, which rather threw Helen who of course was thinking about the Old Bailey. H. said she had had some trouble with a persistent journalist - really, a most unrelenting profession, though suppose they feel driven to it, poor things, as not paid very much and editors ruthless - and Charles had kindly helped her out. Was itching to learn more, but restrained self. Mary plunged in with query about Harriet's last book - sweet of her to read it as not normally her thing - and the three of them talked mysteries very hard and Mary said she thought there ought to be more mothers in books, because they are very good at solving and organising things. Just like Polly, but couldn't help but agree. H. said she would have to try and gather some ideas. Wonder whether Harriet and Peter have discussed children? Shall have to wait and see!_

*

`Begging your pardon sir, someone to see you.'

Chief-Inspector Parker, silently cursing his way through a report on the staggering incompetence of the Ipswich force that had seen a gang of dope-smuggler escape the police boats not only with their liberty, but with their goods intact, welcomed the interruption with relief.

`Has the someone a name, sergeant?'

`Yes, sir. A Miss Vane, sir. I did say as how you were busy, but she didn't want to talk to no-one else.'

`Very well, Franks, send her in - oh, and get Evans to bring in some tea, the decent stuff and don't let him stir it with that blasted pencil, and see we're not disturbed.'

`Very good, sir.'

*

`The letters are unpleasant, of course,' she said, `but they're not generally frightening. There were one or two when I was in Holloway that I had shown to the governor - I don't know what I was imagining, poison darts in the court or bribed wardens dropping strychnine in the water or something - but mostly they're quite petty things, and I do try to keep them in proportion. Only these ones are a bit different and, well, I don't know whether I hope I'm imagining it or not, but I'm sure I've seen someone following me about sometimes, on my way to the shops or the figure standing just outside the lamplight in the evenings. It's unnerving.'

`I imagine it would be. Have you any letters with you?'

Harriet drew a fat envelope out of her bag. `I'm afraid I burned the earlier ones.' She hesitated. `Please don't - I mean, they're all lies. There's nothing in any of them.'

Parker drew on a pair of gloves and tipped the contents of the envelope onto the desk. `May I?' She nodded. `Yes, I see what you mean. Good Lord!'

`I'm not a hysterical female, then?'

`Certainly not. Miss Vane, I suggest you leave these with me. I'll put a man on to watch your flat - not all the time, I'm afraid, we haven't the resources, and a permanently lurking copper might be rather obvious on Doughty Street - and I'll see what I can do with these. I'll telephone you when we've got something, or in a day or two.'

`Thank you. And, Chief Inspector, please _don't_ tell Peter Wimsey about the letters.'

*

`I say, Peter, do you see much of Harriet Vane these days?'

`A bit. Why, is Helen tapping you for gossip? Tell her I've run off to Tahiti with an American film actress; that should shake her up a bit.'

`Thank you, Peter, if I wanted to be martyred in Norfolk I'd find some Millenarians to join. She came to see me the other day - there's been a queer bloke lurking about near her flat. I wondered if you'd seen anything suspicious?'

`Not a soul. Although - in the interests of preventin' innocent misinterpretation an' all that - I observe in casual tones that my acquaintance with Harriet's flat is limited strictly to the two yards between the taxi and the doorstep.'

`Naturally. My man hasn't noticed anybody either. It's not that I don't suspect who the bloke is, but it always helps to catch them in the act - spare the witness the trouble and all that. I'll keep him on a bit longer; these people usually get careless if you can wait it out.'

`Well, make sure _you_ don't get careless and let anything happen.'

`I'm fairly sure it won't. Not the right story. And see here Wimsey, you will be on your best behaviour for my mother, won't you? Not that she's particularly shockable inside, but she's already discoursed at length on her fears for my soul, what with marrying into the decadent aristocracy, and I don't think my ears could bear it if she obtained any further ammunition.'

*

`You were quite right, Miss Vane.' There were roses on the windowsill, and a bill for bedroom furniture on the desk. `He's a journalist, down on his luck and holding on to his comforts with a sport of blackmail until he scoops a story big enough to put him back on the road. We followed him back to his cosy little lock-up, and let's just say that his hoard is quite large enough to spare your evidence being necessary.'

`I see. That's, well, that's a great relief, of course. I can't say that I was looking forward to the prospect.'

`No. Miss Vane,' said Parker, a little stiffly, `if you don't mind my asking, why did you bring the case to me? I shouldn't have thought - after I last saw you -'

Harriet shrugged. `I've never thought you weren't a good policeman. The prospect of taking it to the neighbourhood bobby didn't exactly inspire me, and I could see all sorts of ways that someone might want to ask lots and lots of not strictly relevant questions, even if he bothered with it at all. I knew you'd take it seriously - and not just because it was me, or even for Peter Wimsey.'

`Thank you. Miss Vane, I've never claimed to be imaginative or particularly inspired. I wouldn't make a detective in a mystery novel - not the hero, at any rate. But I have, always, tried to do my job to the best of my ability, to learn from my mistakes if I should make them, and not to make the same one twice. I'll let you know the outcome. If he's any sense, he'll plead guilty, but he's still looking at a year or two inside. He supplemented his income with theft as well.'

`I see. Thank you, Mr Parker. Good afternoon.'

`Good afternoon.'

*

_23 December 1936 - Peter and Harriet arrived from Hertfordshire this morning. Lovely to have all the children here for Christmas. Small Peter very eager to help with the baby - Harriet has promised he may assist at bath-time - but Polly still rather nervous. Do hope she won't be difficult about Mary's next, but then relative strangers - even babies - are never quite the same as immediate family, and no doubt she will be happy when more used to him. Winifred, taking godmother duties very seriously, has bought a positive shelf of Beatrix Potter for present. Will please Peter, who was probably dreading My First Bible, with pictures of jolly shepherds. How I remember he and Mary drawing pirate hats on the disciples in the book they had from Aunt Susan! Most appalling showing-off of Bredon in the servant's hall, Peter grinning like an idiot and Bunter not far behind._

*

The exhibition at the British Museum was crowded, too crowded if one had any interest in examining the art, and Peter and Harriet beat a hasty retreat to the Egyptian galleries until the hour justified setting forth in search of tea.

`Food for the soul is all very well, but one must have cakes and ale - wedding cake, for preference. No? Too many currants, perhaps, or cherries. Let it not be bitter pith, O ruddier than the cherry, O sweeter than the berry, hullo! There's Parker. What's he doin' out at this hour, and we taxpayers funding such debauchery.'

`Good afternoon to you, too, Peter. Of course, if you really want to come and listen to an account of embezzlement of the mission tea funds, you're welcome. No?'

`Alas a prior engagement. You, er, remember Miss Vane, of course?'

`Of course.' Parker raised his hat. `How do you do?'

`How do you do? Do people really embezzle mission tea funds? It sounds like a comic story.'

`You'd be surprised.'

`Oh blast!'

`Peter?'

`Sorry.' Wimsey patted his pockets with a self-deprecating frown. `Left my notebook inside. Took it out to note a catalogue number, and left the bally thing on a shelf. D'you mind awfully if I just dash - Harriet?'

`Of course not.'  
Charles and Harriet watched Peter run swiftly across the cobbles, narrowly avoiding collision with a pram, a Doberman, and a seemingly ambulant tree, and disappear at the top of the steps.

`I love winter days like this, don't you?' said Harriet. `All that yellow stone against the sky, and knowing one's hat isn't liable to be blown off.'

`I don't know: I like a good blow. Though I'll take anything but fog in a pinch.'

`Do the murderers and cutpurses prowl around the mean streets in it?'

`Not they - they've got more sense - but the constables don't like it.'

`I suppose not.' They stood for a moment in slightly awkward silence. `I saw in the _Times_ , Mr Parker, that you have a new son. I hope you're very happy.'

`We are, thank you. He's a fine boy - takes after Mary. Look, there's Wimsey now.'

`Brandishing his trophy.'

`And I really must dash. Good afternoon, Miss Vane.'

`Good afternoon.'

`And - ' He held out his hand, and she took it.

`Merry Christmas, Mr Parker.'

`Merry Christmas.'

 

 

 


End file.
